There Can Be Only One
by Sainte Matthewe
Summary: Farfarello has a little fun with M


There Can Be Only One Danielle Danielle 2 15 2001-11-05T14:22:00Z 2001-11-05T14:22:00Z 2 638 3641 30 7 4471 9.2720 

There Can Be Only One

By Sainte Matthewe

Author's Note: This bit of madness was inspired by a forwarded joke.  I set this up much like my song-fics, just so you know why some of the text is italicized with quote marks.  Farfarello, Schwarz, and other related terms are copyright Project Weiss.  

***

            One vacant gold eye sparkled with delight, as Farfarello cackled at the chocolate smeared across his pale fingers.  "You lose, my cully!" A flash of a scarred, pink tongue, and the smashed sweet was gone.

"Whenever I get a packet of M&Ms, I make it my duty to continue the strength and robustness of the candy as a species.  To this end, I hold M&M duels.

"Taking two candies between my thumb and forefinger, I apply pressure, squeezing them together until one of them cracks and splinters.  That is the 'loser,' and I eat the inferior one immediately.  The winner gets to go another round."

Farfarello fished a new candy out of the dubious safety of the little bag.  He frowned at the orb he held in his pale hand.  It was blue.  The winner of the last round was brown.  He knew all too well how this one would end, but there was always that chance…

A blood-curdling cry, and he progressed with the competition, only to find that the current round ended as he predicted.  With a muttered, "Inferior race," the smashed candy disappeared down his gullet.

"I have found that, in general, the brown and red M&Ms are tougher, and the newer blue ones are genetically inferior.  I have hypothesized that the blue M&Ms as a race cannot survive long in the intense competition that is the modern candy and smack-food world.

_"Occasionally, I will get a mutation, a candy that is misshapen, or pointier, or flatter than the rest.  Almost invariably, this proves to be a weakness, but on very rare occasions, it gives the candy extra strength.  In this way, the species continues to adapt to its environment."_

He fished a new chocolate out of its home.  It was blue.  Truth be told, he was a little disappointed; the brown chocolate was still in his hand.  "Must be rapid multipliers," he grumbled unhappily.

Farfarello took a second look, and brightened.  Pale lips curved up into a smile.  There was an imperfection in the blue exoskeleton.  A mutation.  Maybe there was hope for this race after all.  And thus, the next round commenced.

But then again… maybe not.  In the end, the imperfection proved to be just that.  An imperfection.  A weakness.  The young man sighed, and continued with his project.

"When I reach the end of a pack, I am left with one M&M, the strongest of the herd.  Since it would make no sense to eat this one as well, I pack it neatly in an envelope and send it to M&M Mars, A Division of Mars Inc., along with a 3X5 card reading 'Please use this M&M for breeding purposes.'" 

            He held the little red candy reverently.  It was the strongest of the bag.  The last man standing, one could say.  Farfarello mused for a little while longer, before gently setting it down onto its nest of tissue, and settling himself in front of an ancient typewriter.  

            Being a poor typist, he laboriously picked out the letters of his sentence.  Once he was finished, he pulled the little card out of the antique machine with a flourish, and gently packed the candy, its nest, and the card in an envelope.

            Putting the envelope aside to be mailed later, he pounced on the next packet with unholy glee.

            "This week they wrote me back to thank me, and sent me a coupon for a free ½ pound bag of M&Ms. I consider this 'grant money.'  I have set aside the weekend for a grand tournament.  From a field of hundreds, we will discover the true champion."

            Brad Crawford pawed through the day's mail.  There was nothing interesting in the stack, mainly junk for himself or Schuldig.  Well, there was Nagi's report card, but that wasn't very exciting.  Near the back of the stack, there was something that made him remove and clean his glasses, thinking they were perhaps faulty.  It was a letter from an American company addressed to Farfarello, of all people.

            Not quite sure what to make of it, he simply slipped the letter under the madman's door with a shrug.

            "There can be only one."

            Turning away from the portal to pass out the rest of the mail, a cold, maniacal laugh reached Crawford's ears, and made him pause.  He shook his head, and quickly moved away.  Quite frankly, he didn't really want to know.


End file.
